Horses Are My HRT (Horse Riding Therapy)

I may be in menopause denial. There, I said it.

A friend recently suggested HRT and, for reasons I can't entirely explain, my immediate reaction was steady on. I'm not quite ready to start blaming every bad mood, stiff neck or slightly irrational Tuesday on menopause.

Sometimes you just wake up in a bad mood, don't you? Maybe my subconscious spent the night worrying about something I haven't yet managed to rationalize, because let's face it, everything is approximately 400% worse at 3am. Maybe I've slept funny, maybe I'm tired, maybe I had a lil' drinky the night before, or perhaps somebody simply breathed at me before I'd had coffee.

Of course, it could be estrogen. Or progesterone. Or whichever hormone I'm apparently supposed to have more of at this point.

But do we really need to label everything?

I haven't started with the hot sweats yet, although I live in Florida, so frankly, how would I know? When you're already slightly damp from March until November, identifying a hot flush feels unnecessarily complicated.

The whole HRT conversation did get me thinking, though. Am I ready to admit defeat, stick a patch on and announce to the world that I've officially reached middle age and my only "stable" hormones have officially left the building.

Obviously that's ridiculous. I know it is. HRT isn't admitting defeat and it's genuinely life-changing for many women, but apparently there's a tiny irrational part of my brain that hasn't quite caught up with the sensible part yet.

So naturally, I've started wondering whether there's something else I could be doing in the meantime.

I could disappear down the supplement rabbit hole and spend an absolute fortune on little bottles of things I'll take religiously for three weeks before forgetting about them entirely. Or I could look at what I'm already doing several times a week without ever really thinking of it as particularly good for me.

I go to the barn.

I walk ridiculous distances because whatever I need is inevitably at the opposite end. I carry buckets, lift saddles, sweep, bend, stretch and ride. I use my core, my legs and muscles I wasn't aware I owned until they complain the following morning. I'm outside, I'm moving, I'm getting sunshine on my face - And perhaps, most importantly, I'm getting out of my own head. 

Because it's quite difficult to contemplate your declining estrogen levels while simultaneously trying to convince half a tonne of horse that the plastic bag in the hedge isn't coming to harvest her organs.

And perhaps that's the bit we underestimate.

So many of the things we're encouraged to look after as we head through menopause - our bones, muscle strength, balance, mood, sleep, stress levels and general wellbeing - are things that an active life with horses can quietly support too. Add in fresh air, nature, routine, purpose and that strange ability horses have to make you completely present in the moment, and I'm beginning to wonder whether I've accidentally stumbled across a rather brilliant form of midlife therapy.

Could spending time with horses be one of the most underestimated, misunderstood holistic therapies we have right on our doorstep?

Now, before anyone throws away their estrogen patch and buys a cob, I'm obviously not suggesting horses replace HRT. If I need it one day, I'll take my truly amazing best friend's advice and reconsider - probably while pretending the whole thing was my idea in the first place.

But for now, I'm rather enjoying my alternative prescription.

It comes with fresh air, filthy fingernails, stronger thighs, a quieter head, an alarming feed bill and absolutely no chance whatsoever of being covered by health insurance.

Horses are my HRT.

And so far, the side effects aren't half bad.